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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932567">Until the Moment I Reach this Impending Grave</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maleficaster/pseuds/maleficaster'>maleficaster</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Persona 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Brief Appearances/References to Other Characters, Funerals, Gen, Goro Big Bang 2020, Implied/Referenced Animal Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Character Death, Murder, Non-Chronological, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Philosophy, brief descriptions of corpses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:08:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,556</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maleficaster/pseuds/maleficaster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe his soul could run away, travel out of reach of anything that would destroy it, but then he remembers that there is no running. There is no appealing option, not really, when each choice only ends with another scar that can never heal. A simple end would be much easier.</p><p>-</p><p>[Or, a look at Goro’s life in some of the moments he’s most connected to death.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akechi Goro &amp; Akechi Goro's Mother, Akechi Goro &amp; Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro &amp; Persona 5 Protagonist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Goro Big Bang 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Until the Moment I Reach this Impending Grave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>II.</p><p>He finds the bird in his usual hiding spot, an alleyway, just a couple streets away from his elementary school, nestled beside a restaurant that has most of their products filling the dumpster next to it, and Goro knows behind it is a decent hiding spot that has kept him safe these past few weeks. The bird is a small thing, a pale brown, a softer shade of Goro’s hair. They lay on the side over a patch of red staining the cement. They chirp at him, but the song it tries to sing is painful to listen to. Birds are common in this part of the city, their melodic chirps accompanying his every step as he walks to his school, their voices almost like the chatter of friends in what would otherwise be a lonely silence. But the voice of this bird is not a beautiful ballad, but a cry for help to any who would listen.</p><p>Goro crouches down and reaches out, but the bird shifts, trying to move away from his hand. The sight makes him pause and pull back but he doesn’t leave. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, “I want to help.” </p><p>They chirp a little bit louder in response, squirming in place but they’re stuck and the realization makes their plea louder, transforming into gruesome croaks of desperation that panic Goro. He tries to wait another minute, but Goro’s gut tells him that he has to do something. He decides that he has to carefully grab the bird, taking care to keep the bird’s injuries from worsening while not getting injured by the bird himself. After that, he’ll run home and get help. Mom always knows what to do, the only issue is getting there; he can’t be spotted by some of the older kids or else he and the bird will be home late, bruises on his arm and an injured bird cradled to his chest, that would worry his mother even more than usual.</p><p>Just as Goro makes his decision, the bird quiets, the reducing cries a peaceful acceptance of Goro’s presence, and hopefully, his help. He smiles and he reaches out to the bird again, who doesn’t try to move away this time. “I’ll be careful,” he tells the bird, “I promise.”</p><p>One of his palms is slick with a little bit of blood, but at least he can tell Mom it was the bird who was bleeding this time. He can show his mom he really is capable of being a hero. </p><p>III.</p><p>His mother greets him the second he walks in the door. Sometimes, when he’d get home she’d pat his head, asking questions about his day while making sure he wasn’t injured. But today, she crouches down and tucks Goro’s hair behind his ear before she turns her stare downward toward the bird in his hands. He’d been worried for a moment that she had been disappointed, but she sighs with a fond smile as set her hand on his shoulder and looks back at him. </p><p>“I’ve never helped a bird before,” she says. “But we can learn together.” </p><p>She guides Goro to the tattered couch where he takes a seat, pats his head and then leaves him there with the bird. From his spot he can hear her wandering around the cramped kitchen behind him, opening cupboards and drawers, followed by the faint rustling of the items within. The noise fades, but he hears her wandering closer before she disappears into the apartment’s bedroom, where he has to strain to hear the movements of her practiced silence.  </p><p>Eventually she returns and deposits the items she’s collected on the floor in front of him. There isn’t much, just a towel, a bowl of water, loose fabric from an old shirt he recognizes, a couple of thin wooden chopsticks and scissors. </p><p>“What’s all that for?” Goro asks.</p><p>Instead of responding she dabs the towel into the water and bites her lip as she stares at Goro’s cupped hands. He shifts his fingers so the bird is more exposed to his mother’s watchful eye, and in turn he sees the bird’s head twist to look at her. They move to stand in the palm of his hand, talons sharp against his flesh as it hops around a little to adjust their perch. He flinches at the first movement, forces himself to stay still to avoid alarming his mom to the brief flashes of pain. He sees his mom's eyes flicker up, and Goro smiles, lips twitching at the corner as the bird moves one last time. </p><p>“I think we should clean your friend’s injury first… I think,” she explains. “Since that’s what we do for our injuries…”</p><p>“You’re so smart, ma.” Goro grins. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”</p><p>She smiles at him before refocusing her attention and the bird. She reaches out her hands, the movements slow enough that Goro can see the glimpses of the moments her hands shake. Goro considers pushing his arms forward, bringing the bird closer to her gentle hands, but knows from earlier that maybe he should be patient instead.</p><p>Eventually his mother’s fingers ghost over the bird’s feathers and press lightly against the bird’s back. They wiggle a bit in place, shrinking away when the wet cloth connects against their side. But his mother persists, tapping the bloodied area. Even after a few minutes of work, some of the crimson hue lingers in their chestnut feathers, but they look cleaner than they had when Goro found them. His mother sets the stained rag beside the bowl, filled with water that had become dirty during the course of his mother’s work.  </p><p>She leans away from the bird to pick up the shirt. She tugs at one of the sleeves, and Goro can hear the quiet snapping of threads as it tears away. She sets the severed sleeve to the side and reaches for the wooden chopsticks, breaking them in half and cleaning up the splinters with a pair of scissors.   </p><p>Goro can tell that his mom plans to use the shirt’s remains as a bandage of some sort, instead of one of the Featherman bandaids they have a short supply of, but he can’t tell what the chopsticks are meant for. </p><p>“What’s that for?” Goro whispers.</p><p>“I don’t know if your friend’s wing is broken, so I’m making a splint,” she replies in a gentle tone. “And I don’t think your friend would like me trying to find out either, so I’m just doing it this way to make sure he’ll be okay.”</p><p>Goro nods again and resumes watching his mother work, once again reaching out but this time with the cloth and chopsticks, wrapping the fabric around the bird. It’s a slow process, longer than it had to clean the wound, but after a while she removes her hands and scoots back from the two of them.</p><p>She grabs a couple of the smaller objects littered on the floor before she stands up. “I’ll try and help you take care of him, but he’s mostly your responsibility until he gets better, okay? Care for your friend.”</p><p>“Of course.” he nods. “I’ll help him, I promise.”</p><p>I. </p><p>The memories of that moment are faint, but he remembers the soft melodies of the Phoenix Featherman ending theme, a contrast to the typical energetic tunes, playing alongside the rolling list of names. He remembers his confusion at the idea of one of the characters being gone, like there was some deeper meaning to that word than he didn’t understand, and as sits through the credits his mother strokes his back.</p><p> “Gone?” Goro echoes the word and glances up at his mom. “What do they mean?”</p><p>“It…” she frowns, her gaze shifts away as she searches for the word. “It means Grey Pigeon died. He won’t come back.”</p><p>“Died…” Goro repeats the word. It has a weight he doesn’t quite understand. “But he has to come back.”</p><p>“He won’t be in the next episode,” she says pulling him closer, “but he’ll be there in the past, with us.” </p><p>Goro pulls his knees to his chest and wonders.  </p><p>IV.</p><p>The bird has been in their care for a few days, resting in the single bedroom, often hopping around on the floor near Goro’s pillow. At school, when he could, Goro would look for books on birds, occasionally trying to use the computer to learn more, the hunt for food suggestions turning into a curiosity about his friend and other similar creatures. </p><p>It takes a while to get home today, avoiding the common routes of the school’s bullies so he could return home with his newest borrowed book close to his chest without damaging it. He slips in through the front door, glances over at his mom and as he slips off his shoes, tells her that he’s home, and she responds in kind, a brief flash of a smile before she returns her gaze to a paper in her hand, opened envelopes set beside her. Instead of saying more he enters the bedroom.</p><p>“I’m home,” he whispers into the bedroom as he searches for his friend. </p><p>As they often were, they sit on top of his pillow, but they offer no response. They had been quick to chatter whenever Goro had entered the room, communicating in one-sided conversations, but today it seems they’re asleep. Goro steps further into the room, floorboard creaking beneath his feet and he grimaces and looks to the bird again. Just as before they are still, head not twisting to search for the noise of Goro’s clumsy steps.</p><p>He kneels onto the cold floor, sets the book onto the blanket just a short distance away from where his friend sleeps. They shift a little with the weight, but they otherwise don’t move much, head still tucked towards their chest. </p><p>“I didn’t think you were a heavy sleeper…” Goro mumbles, fingers curling into fists on his lap. Part of him wonders if he should just read and wait for them to wake, but something doesn’t feel right about this. He knows that his friend is an animal, but they’ve had habits over the last few days and this is the first time they’ve been broken.</p><p>With that thought in mind Goro reaches out, a light press on the bird’s back like he’s done every once in a while the last few days, but it should be enough pressure for them to wake. </p><p>They don’t move. </p><p>He retracts his hand, frown settling on his face. Goro thinks of distant memories of a Featherman Episode, of hearing about lost pets from the beloved students and missing parents from the scorned, and wonders if maybe that this is it. His mouth falls open, and he can’t help but reach out again, shake his friend a couple of times, see if there is any response.</p><p>Again, they are silent. Goro bites his lip and wills the tingling sensation in his eyes down. For now he reaches out for his friend, cups his hand beneath their body, and his heart breaks at this one last failure for his friend to respond. He stands, carefully cradles the bird close to his heartbeat, and goes to see his mom. </p><p>“Mom…” She lifts his head. Goro continues to approach the couch, stopping when he stands right in front of her. “I think they died…”</p><p>He brings the bird closer to her. She leans forward to get a closer look, frowns before she looks back up to Goro. “I think you’re right… I’m sorry dear.”</p><p>Before she does anything else, his mother carefully lifts the corpse from Goro’s hands before pulling him close to her, raising an arm to stroke his hair. It’s too much, and he can’t resist wrapping his arms around her, fingers clutching the back of his shirt, tears slipping from his eyes. </p><p>He thought he had done well, and he thinks he hears his mom reassure him, telling him he had done all he could, but all he thinks about is how he hadn’t done enough.</p><p>After Goro’s tears begin to dry, his sniffles loud and his eyes red, they seperate from the hug and his mother’s hands settle on his shoulders. </p><p>“Why don’t we make sure your friend rests properly?” she asks him in the same quiet voice she had used with the bird just days ago. “And then we can put a small altar for your friend in the bedroom, so that you don’t forget them. How does that sound?”</p><p>Goro rubs at his eyes and licks his lips to remove the lingering salty tears. After another minute he nods. “What do we do for that?”</p><p>“Well, you see…”</p><p>VII.</p><p>It was his classes that began teaching him what a funeral was and literature that expanded on the various formalities. The time Goro spent with his mother preparing a quick funeral was nothing like the raging desire to escape the cage of the institution he was shoved into with only half a day’s notice so he could at least pay his respects to his mother. </p><p>Him finding out the details of her funeral was an accident, a slip of the tongue from one of his wardens, who would place a hand on his shoulder, look him in the eye, and tell him with that syrupy tone with false sympathy that he couldn’t go. That he wasn’t welcome there. </p><p>But it was his mother, and so he had to form a plan. He didn’t have much time to formulate ideas for distractions, but just enough time to pocket enough change for a couple of train tickets. Getting away is difficult, but he manages to pull it off, sneaks away from the watchful eyes and stumbles his way through the streets of Tokyo, some of it unfamiliar, to the place in which the ceremony would take place. </p><p>The school lessons of the past taught Goro he needs to dress in all black, even if all he has is a long-sleeved shirt, stretchy black pants with a hole his mother didn’t have the chance to patch up before she left, and black tennis shoes, muddied from overuse but unless scrutinized wouldn’t be as noticed. His hair is also on the long side, so the night before he nabs a hair tie from one of the girls at the orphanage, but it’s thin, sparkly and pink and he really hopes no one notices it. </p><p>The inside of the facility is dreary and Goro can’t deny being uncomfortable as he finds a seat on the edge, being unsure of where else he should go. There aren’t many people here and he doesn’t recognize any of them. Each time he looks up he catches a gaze or two in his direction, lips downward and disturbing gazes that have Goro sinking further into his seat. </p><p>After a few minutes more of quiet mumblings the strangers sit down. Up front, a priest begins to chant and Goro focuses on the syllables that echo around the room. The longer the words drone on, the more Goro finds his gaze drifting to the floor. </p><p>After a while the priests stop and quiet mumblings of the small gathering resume again. At the edge of his perception he sees an older woman heading towards the door, her hair styled in a way his mother used to years ago, with a braid coiled around her bun. She leans her weight against the cane as she makes her way towards the entrance, each tap accompanying the deliberate clicks of her heels. As she passes the aisle that Goro sits in she stops, turns her head and Goro flinches at the frost in her brown eyes.</p><p>“It’s disrespectful to show up uninvited,” she says. Goro looks down at his laps, hands entwined and thumbs fiddling. </p><p>“This is my mom’s funeral,” he says. “I–”</p><p>“My daughter had no son,” the woman snaps. “She lived alone and she died alone.” </p><p>He glances up at her again, and his heart hammers at the sight of her expression: she doesn’t hide the downward turn of her lips, her cold and distant expression from not even a minute ago a boiling fury eager to burn him alive. </p><p>“But, ma’am,” he dares not call her grandmother, he had no idea she had even existed until now, “please–”</p><p>“Get out.” She taps the cane’s tip against the side of Goro’s foot. A threat. “Or I will call security. You are not welcome here.”</p><p>Goro’s eyes dart around the room, and he sees it now, the effects of the woman’s words have brought upon him: an invitation for their stares to openly express their ire, disgust and shame. He looks back to the woman one last time, and without another word he stands, fingernails digging into his palms to fight back the tears, to make him focus on something else, and he walks out with shoulders tense and his head held high. </p><p>He doesn’t stop walking until he is miles away and lost.</p><p>VI.</p><p>In the last few months he’s begun to notice a more drastic shift in his mother, how the look in her eyes changes more regularly. He had seen the dark expression often when she picked him up from the bathhouse in the late hours of the night with her tangled hair hastily tied back, her focus not on the walk or him but on something he didn’t quite yet grasp. </p><p>In the past it would often be his mother who would reach out and grab his hand first, but now he reaches first and tries to talk about anything he can think of. At first he would try to distract her with the sights on the walk, but the roads are too familiar and little happens on their walk of note, so now he tells her about his day at school. Of taking care of the class animals, seeing the rabbit hop around and sniff his hand, the air tickling his skin and their fur soft under his touch; or he’d discuss what he’s learned, from sharing facts to expressing issues and sometimes his success on his tests, or of the games he played today, even if he doesn’t mention that he plays them alone he can tell her of the fictional characters he saved today. </p><p>Goro does that every night, and most nights she’d eventually look at him and smile and tell him about the good parts of her day. Even if they keep the secrets of their demons, they find solace in these late night walks back to their apartments, crammed into a small unknown corner of this world. </p><p>But now, they get to the door and his mother shuffles Goro into the bedroom, the words from his mother becoming less and less until nothing is spoken no matter how much Goro tries. Instead she just stares at him until he tucks himself in and then she shuts the door shut gently behind her. </p><p>Watching this expansion of distance makes Goro wonder if there is something that he can do, even if it makes her a little happier only for a moment. After a few days of trying out small ideas and pondering some more, he still has no ideas until he’s running from some bullies who’ve found his hiding spot when he spots it: a long, flowy green scarf, colors shifting from emerald tones to a minty color, with white flowers and leaf patterns printed onto the fabric. It’s a beautiful scarf, and it reminds Goro of his mother’s kindness and warmth, of her love for the trees. He’s not sure if it will work, but he decides to scrounge up enough money to try and purchase it for her. </p><p>It takes a bit of time, more nights of quiet, of his mother either staring at her portion of their meager meals or at him eating rather than eating the food for herself, of frowns and tears Goro has long ago learned he has to pretend he doesn’t see, that he doesn’t hear the sniffling in the other room when he tries to sleep. Every morning she acts as if nothing is amiss, a smile on her face and gentle words, and every morning Goro will greet her with a hug that starts to become a little bit longer with every passing day. He feels like an awful hero when he knows his mom’s putting him at a distance she won’t let him cross, a canyon he cannot bridge when he doesn’t have the right words.</p><p>When he has the money in his hand Goro isn’t entirely confident that this will accomplish its goal of an honest smile but he has to hope that the missed lunches amount to something other than his mother’s worry. </p><p>Purchasing the scarf is a little difficult, the clerk giving him a hard time, but eventually they tucked the scarf and some tissue paper in a little bag he carries home as if it were a precious treasure. </p><p>“I’m home!” he says as he enters the house, takes off his shoes and is met with a look of confusion rather than his mom’s greeting. Her eyes wander to the bag which has a crease in the middle as he cradles it to his chest.</p><p>“And what do you have there?” She asks. </p><p>“I–” he looks to the side before he sticks out the bag in her direction. “I wanted to…” see you happy again, even if only for a while, is what he thinks, but instead he says: “to surprise you ma.”</p><p>She stares at him for a moment longer before she approaches, sitting on the ground near the doorway and Goro joins her. She doesn’t take the bag from him, so he pushes it with both hands towards her. She hesitates for a moment longer before she gently tugs at the sides of the bag to pull it towards her, waiting a second longer before she pushes open the top and peels away the layer of tissue paper. After she sets that aside she reaches deeper to dig out the scarf, and she opens the fabric wide and stares, fingers trailing along the curves of the flowers towards the edges. </p><p>Her eyes brighten, but the dim lighting reflects a couple of tears. “Mom!” Goro reaches out to her but she stops him with a gentle touch on his elbow while her other arm wipes away her tears. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she repeats a few times, each quieter than the last. “I– I love it, Goro.” The hand that stopped him reaches, pulls him into a hug that he’s quick to recorpriate, and she runs his fingers through his hair.  “Thank you, my wonderful son. I can’t wait to wear this.”</p><p>And Goro is excited to see that day.</p><p>Except, the first time Goro gets to see her wear the scarf, he doesn’t smile. Instead he watches as his mother sways from the ceiling, a chair on its side beneath her, head tilted at an unnatural angle. Instead of smiling, he vomits and calls the police. </p><p>V.</p><p>Funerals had seemed like such an elaborate affair if anything the teachers spoke of is to be believed, but what they choose to do for the bird is far simpler. It’s Sunday, only a day after Goro found his friend in their neverending slumber. </p><p>The evening before, his mom had asked him to dig out a shoe box from the closet where they put the bird. Only a couple of hours after they had set his friend’s corpse in the box did it start to smell, becoming more rancid as the night progressed. </p><p>“The smell’s probably not being trapped,” his mother muses with a wrinkle of her nose. “There’s holes in the side of the shoebox.” She opens the cupboard beneath the sink, pulling out used plastic bags and wrapping the box within. She’d then tucked it into an old purse, a finicky zipper forced shut with the box inside. </p><p>That’s how his mother carries the body in public without drawing extra attention, the handles of the bag tucked in her elbow as they begin traveling towards the train station, with Goro holding the hand of the opposite arm.  </p><p>He looks up at her. “Where are we going?” </p><p>“A quiet spot,” she replies. </p><p>As they walk she glances at the stores they pass before her eyes settle on the store with a vibrant stand displaying a wide array of flowers Goro doesn’t recognize. An older man tends to the flowers, cradling one in his palm and the other just below the chin. Goro’s mom stops by the man and starts to ask some brief questions, but Goro doesn’t listen as he looks at the flowers more closely. </p><p>The flowers are beautiful up close, bundles of crimsons, golds and pearls, some of their petals fan out, others curling inwards, some brush against the tips of other flowers. He considers reaching out to touch one, but decides against it since the flowers aren’t his to tend to. He’s tempted to wander a little more so he could look at the other plants but he chooses to stick close to his mother's side. </p><p>It only takes a few seconds longer for his mother to tap on his shoulder to get his attention, waving a small shovel, still in it’s packaging, before she slips it into the bag. As the two of them begin to walk away, Goro thanks the employee after his mom with a small bow, before hurrying back to her side. </p><p>From there, the path begins to grow a little more familiar as they stop at the train station. It’s the direction of the train that surprises him, for each station that passes the more he realizes he had never been in this part of the city before. Goro’s mother stands next to the spot Goro sits in as he excitedly looks out the window, goes to point, but then looks at the stern crowd who would probably not appreciate the disruption, so Goro says nothing, but his mom doesn’t bother hiding a short laugh every time he tries. Deciding he needs to keep his attention elsewhere, he asks his mother if he can hold the bag, and he sets it in his lap, one arm in a careful hug around the purse and the other fiddling with the weakening straps.  </p><p>After a few minutes more they arrive at their station, but his mom mentions they have a way to walk. Their journey takes them through a nice neighbourhood, passing many uniform houses of pristine whites, rows of named mailboxes and twists and turns through the small streets. Eventually his mother takes him on a small path off to the side that takes him behind one of the larger houses, its property lines blocked off by a stone fence. </p><p>That’s when they begin to detour off the paths, slipping into the unguarded area behind the large house and into a small forest. He pulls the bag closer to his chest to avoid dragging it into the dirt. Goro looks up and around in wonder, trees towering above him, each one huddled together and cramped, not unlike the people of Tokyo with the daily rush and practiced routines, but there's a calm and sporadicity in this place. His eyes trail the trunks, eye one reaching for the sky, even if they struggle to cover it from view.  He’d always been surrounded by metals and manufactured woods, only patches of plants tucked away to bring a spark of life to the dull grey. Never did he imagine the trees could be so tall and reach the skies so easily. Would he ever be that height? Would he ever be able to grasp the clouds and the stars within his hands and present them to his mom? </p><p>“Just a little further,” she tells him and Goro’s eyes travel back to his mother. “We don’t want to be disturbed when burying your friend.” </p><p>She turns around to face forward again, climbing up the small slope and Goro can’t help but notice how relaxed she is. He’s not sure what has made her so happy, be it the change of scenery from city to these small woods, or that she’s exchanged her dresses for casual t-shirts and jeans, or maybe it’s that this is the first time she and Goro have been able to spend the entire day together in a while. Regardless of the answer, despite the morbidity of the pending funeral Goro can’t help but be grateful, a little smile on his lips as he follows her. </p><p>As they travel, the tip of his shoes often knock against different roots and rocks, some of the latter are large and stuck in place, and others he’ll accidently kick some pebbles and specks of dirt off to the side. He starts to watch the ground more carefully, making sure to avoid tripping so that he doesn’t harm his friend’s body, he knows that would be considered rude even if it was an accident. </p><p>After he avoids another root he glances up to see his mother pushing aside a tree branch before she falls over on hands and knees. Instead of moving to stand back up she collapses further onto the ground, hands spread wide.</p><p>“Mom?” he rushes over, careful not to trip on the subtle root next to his mother’s foot. He looks at her face but instead of a reaction to pain, she just turns over before she glances over at Goro and laughs. She spreads her arms out wider, one bending at the elbow to rest the back of her palm against a tree. </p><p>“Haha, sorry Goro,” her laughter ceases but her smile still shines as she looks past Goro’s head towards the sky. “I’m just reminded of when I was your age. I used to fall in the dirt a lot.” </p><p>She reaches her hand towards Goro’s and tugs at his arm. Goro sets the bag on the ground, letting it settle against the tree trunk behind him before sitting down at her side. His mother looks at him and continues reminiscing: “I would race alone through the trees, and I tripped so often,” she laughs. “It’s a shame you can’t run around as much where we live, I think you’d enjoy it. You’d be a stronger hero the more you start to run.” She pokes him in the head and Goro collapses dramatically on his side, meets the cold ground beneath him. “Maybe you’d save me.” </p><p>“Of course I’d save you ma,” he replies. “I’d never, ever, let the bad guys get you.”</p><p>“Never?” She chuckles. “I’m glad I’ve got a strong man here ready to help me.” She sits up and ruffles his hair. Her smile falls and her gaze drifts to the bag. “But for now I think we need to help your little friend rest in peace. Are you ready to dig a hole?”</p><p>Goro nods and remembers the shovel his mom bought and put in the bag. He sits up to pull the bag into his lap. He reaches into the bag, fingers brushing over plastic before it touches the shovel’s cardboard container. He pulls the packaging out of the bag and zips it shut before he sets it back against the tree. </p><p>It’s a bit of the struggle to open the package, but he eventually manages to get it off and the shovel falls into his lap. He picks it up; it’s heavy in his palm, meant for hands bigger than his own. </p><p>But Goro refuses to give up over such a little thing. “Where do I start digging?” </p><p>“Here’s good.” She pats the ground next to them. “We can take turns.” </p><p>He nods, but he’s certain he can do this on his own. He imagines the shoebox in his mind and makes an outline in the ground with the shovel. Once it’s a little bigger than he thinks it needs to be he stabs the shovel into the ground, wiggling it side to side to get as much dirt as possible before he digs some out, dumping it to the side into a budding pile. </p><p>He continues with this process as the gentle morning rays turn into bright sunbeams that illuminate his slow-progressing work. His mother is silent as he digs, her breaths slow and Goro wonders if she’s fallen asleep, and he thinks this is a wonderful spot for a nap, under the shade of hundreds of branches, protected from passing rain and storms, watched by the ancients and cradled by their roots.</p><p>It’s a good place to rest, he thinks as he glances at the bird. He just hopes his friend thinks so too. </p><p>Later, long after Goro’s arms are sore, Goro shakes his mom awake. She blinks up at him for a moment and flinches at the sight of him, eyes wide for a moment before she lets out a slow exhale. “Sorry honey,” she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “I was just surprised. Do you want to switch?”</p><p>“I think it’s ready,” he says instead. His mother turns to glance behind her.</p><p>“Wow, Goro! You did a wonderful job.” She musses his hair once more, specks of dirt mixing in and he leans away from her hand, back against another tree. “Let’s get your friend out and bury him.”</p><p>It’s the easy part and Goro’s mother insists she put the dirt back into the grave while Goro thinks about the bird and all the memories they shared. There weren’t many but Goro hopes the bird’s last days weren’t as painful. He does his best to pray, though he has no idea if they will ever be heard, and then his mother taps him on the head twice and he sees the bird’s grave has been finalized. He bows towards the grave for a brief moment. “I’m ready to go,” he says and he reaches for her hand.</p><p>VIII.</p><p>Goro’s not sure where he stops but he’s passed by numerous people bustling to and fro, most with bags hanging off their shoulders. He finds a quiet corner away from the crowd to allow himself a moment of rest, standing to avoid drawing attention, before he has to seek out directions; he doesn’t remember the various twists and turns he ran to make it to this spot. Getting this far was difficult, feeling as if every step in his escape took something away from him. It’s only now, after he’s stopped, that he realizes no safe place for him to run to exists.</p><p>Only that woman’s words fill her mind, disowning him in his mother’s place. Every street is filled with the eyes of someone looking down at him, seeing through him and into the truth of his legacy. All he can do now is stop here in a temporary hide-away, give himself one last reprieve before he returns to the world that will remind him of his every mistake.</p><p>As he stands with his back against a concrete wall he starts to feel the tenseness of his jaw, teeth mashing together, the sting from his nails digging into his palms. It brings back memories of when he had been so angry or scared and his mother had helped him calm down. His mother would breathe in tandem with him, holding his hand in hers until he felt better. Somedays, when it was a nightmare that had shaken him, she’d pull him close and hum tune that she’s never been able to replicate. He’d remember focusing on the faint vibration of her chest, heart beating at soothing beats just underneath. There was little to focus on, nothing he had to fight to ignore. </p><p>Here while their voices are quiet, these are the voices of strangers, not the hauntings of the woman’s taut voice, the echo of the cane’s thunk, or the comforting tones of his mother’s voice. Instead, it’s voices with the sounds of pencils scratching just a short distance away at the outdoor tables of the cafe he hides near. </p><p>The voices speak of things he doesn’t quite understand, fancy words and foregin syllables woven into each sentence. He focuses on them little more, an ill replacement for the soothing voice of the past, but it’s something. </p><p>“Memento mori…? That’s… remember you will die, right?”</p><p>The meaning of this new phrase reverberates in his head, reaffirmed by a new stranger’s voice. It’s such an obvious thought, as only months ago that bird died as a result of its wounds. Grey Pigeon died because he had been killed by his enemies. His mother died because of Goro’s existence, because his father had cast her aside to have her raise the monster masquerading as a hero. </p><p>He imagines watching sand spill from an hourglass, cracks forming at the base and letting specks empty out. For these last few days he has listened and watched as the caregivers and would-be family claw their way in to suck out the particles that are left, forcing him to follow his mother’s ghostly steps. To find a noose, be it a necktie or scarf and tie himself somewhere high up so he can snap his head from his neck; simply another morbid display but one without any remorse, for who would pity the being who only decay follows? </p><p>He has to fight to keep himself from physically reacting at the thought, settling with a grim frown. There is no place left for him in this world, but even so he will claw his way towards something before he’s gone. It doesn’t matter what it will be, vengeance or justice in some capacity, as long as before the last of his breaths leaves him he leaves a giant scar in his place, taking the rot of existence and judgement with him. The problem is the plan, an uncharted road lies before him and he has no idea which tools to take. But he will have the time to figure it out, hours to think and days to investigate and years to fester his grievances. </p><p>He moves again, determined footsteps wandering to the train station, marching towards the destiny he will create for himself. He wonders if his mother will be proud or disappointed in his resolve. He loved knowing his mother’s thoughts, but for once, he doesn’t think he wants to know.</p><p>IX.</p><p>The strange boat rocks beneath Goro’s feet, the bow of the ship brushing against the walls of buildings Goro doesn’t recognize, but the red and white tower in the distance tells him where he is, or rather, tells him that he hasn’t left. He’s not sure how he’s gotten onto this ship, or how much time has passed if the sea has risen high enough to allow for a ship to sail between the buildings without a care for the destruction. </p><p>But he feels the stale air and sees an empty ship inside an empty world, and it reminds Goro of many things: of dreams to see the sea with his mom, feeling the sand beneath his toes and a melody of laughter as he convinces his mom to play in the water; of fractured ideals of heroism and justice that are difficult to piece together, each crumbling in his hands the longer he watches the systems that drive this nation; feelings of isolation, ones that drive him further and further away from society’s idea of salvation. None of these thoughts pause as the ship rolls on through apocalyptic daybreak and further into a quiet nightmare. </p><p>He exhales once and turns away from the bow, towards what appears to be the Diet Building. Faintly, Goro remembers that he had been right outside the building before he found himself here, but it’s nonsensical for that same building to be dropped onto a boat. It’s a reminder of this dream, and with nowhere else to wander, Goro decides the best path is forward.</p><p>There is a lack of security at the expansive doors, it’s original brown overlaid with a hint of gold. But they are easy to push open and no one hinders his entry, the groups of masked individuals inside don’t even glance his way. He doesn’t recognize any of them but he can tell by the bright colors and extravagant clothing, so different from his dulled hand-me-downs, that they consider themselves a step above the rest, with their prosperity adorned in flashy jewels on fingers and wrists, popularity expressed by their need for anonymity through heavily embroidered masks. The path before him is laid out in a red carpet, text sewn in between interlacing blood threads, with statues of a man that only takes seconds for him to recognize: Shido Masayoshi. His biological father.</p><p>This is the sight that has Goro at a pause, bronze statues proud and victorious with little consideration for the souls who he has trampled along to walk this path. Theories floating around the news and internet imply that Shido may be in a bid for power, his sights on the Prime Ministers seat sometime within the next decade. In this world which Goro already struggles to comprehend, the one thing he cannot fathom most is the soul who would dream of worship of the devil.</p><p>His hands ball into fists and his skin crawls, but he walks forward despite his concerns, each step heavier than the last even if he is careful to tread with silence. He drags himself to the staircase, every ghost of a touch from his shoe a taint on this mask of perfection. He doesn’t know much of this place, but he does know that the end of this mystery may not be pleasant, that each detail of this strange world leaves a scar in his mind demanding an answer and he doubts he can leave without them. This nightmare will end, one way or another.</p><p>The curve of the staircase is his guide as he travels up, his fingers leaving a mark on the railing as the path winds into a new floor, wallpaper a photo of Shido’s face in mock-up election campaign designs, each one unique, displaying desperation in search of the right slogan to win the broken masses. Each word twists inside Goro’s stomach, each phrase a reminder of lies and betrayal that he never witnessed. How does one support a nation if you cannot support those you abandoned? How does one care when pride and joy are cast aside to the streets? How does one love when the loved ones do not exist in the mind’s eye? The words are hollow yet remind Goro of everything he has ignored in youth and realized in conflict. This demented facade claws and tears and rips at everything inside, reaching for an unachieveable purpose within the nightmare.</p><p>It doesn’t settle as he continues his ascent into hell, and he pauses once he reaches the top of the stairwell which is another mocking floor that has even less escape routes than the one below. He has come too far to let this fade into obscurity, to return outside and be another soul to cast him out to sea. Unlike the previous floor he lets his eyes roam for details, skimming over the platitudes decorating the walls, until his eyes settle in the distance to the door with a masked guard in front of it. </p><p>As there is only one way forward, his options are limited to seeing if he can convince the guard he be granted access or speak with the guest floors below for intelligence. Goro grimaces at the thought of proceeding with either plan. His preferred option is to further exam the areas on his own, remaining unspotted by anyone who poses too much risk to him. Maybe he can find access further in through an alternate passage. </p><p>He turns to proceed down the stairs again when he hears something faint just behind him. He cranes his neck around and focuses in the area he hears the sound, just behind the pillar. The faint sound he thought he imagined bubbles into a low growl, and Goro sets a slow foot down onto the stair. As Goro takes another step down the stairs he catches sight of a dark doberman prowling his way. It sniffs once more before its eyes settle on Goro and takes him in as prey. </p><p>When the hound crouches down, Goro bolts down the steps two stairs at a time. The growl escalates and the barking begins. There is no point in hiding the thunder in his footsteps as he leaps onto the floor, the beast’s paws echoing each footstep, his scent the perfect trail. As Goro turns to approach the next flight of stairs he feels the pressure push against his back before it sharpens and digs down before it releases, creating a stinging sensation all across his back and causes the realization that the nightmare has become real but it has no time to settle in as Goro scrambles to his feet and keeps running. </p><p>Roaring rings out, far louder than he had expected, and a quick glance behind him shows that the skin has peeled away from the dog to reveal something larger, a lion with a snowy mane. He feels the shaking in his palms first, a butterfly effect rippling across his body as he turns another corner and ducks behind the pillar, the lion having taken the bait to leap right against the stone. </p><p>He peers over the railing that shows the entry hall below, its guest mingling about in idle ignorance as blood paints the walls of their party. He could jump down, see if whatever gods may exist grant him only a single miracle in his life, that of survival and broken bones, sneer at him as he crawls his way to the exit. Running is a pitiful option unless he’d like to soak more blood into his off-white shirt, and fighting is just the same: there are no options for a makeshift weapon, the pillar trick will only work once and already Goro can hear the faint growls as the creature readies to stand once more. His throat tightens and his fingers scratch against the wall behind him, and all this moment cumulates to is that this is a pitiful end for a pitiful man.</p><p>The beast prowls around the corner, anger hissed out through its teeth. It watches Goro, ready to simply toy with him just like every other being he has come across. He wonders if Shido Masayoshi acted similarly with his mother.</p><p>“Of course this is how it is,” he hisses. “That bastard couldn’t even be bothered to try and get rid of me himself.” His own quiet laughter sounds demented in his ears.</p><p>There has to be an opening, and the monster is making sure he doesn’t find it. His options are limited but there has to be something, he cannot let this end here, he can not let Shido get away–</p><p>Ah, there it is.</p><p>An arrow pierces through his mind and Goro finds himself falling over, leaning onto the side of the pillar for support. He gasps for air, greater pain than the cuts along his back writhing in every inch of his body. </p><p>I know you’ve never been satisfied with this world; the one that steals away the things you love and tells you it’s in the name of righteousness. You’re angry at the powerful for seeing the poor as just another tool to get power. They’re not even worth a second glance. The other you, slumbering inside, has long awaited the day in which you realized what is just is taking back from the rich and corrupt. This world has taken and will continue to take much before your success, but form a pact and your soul will be yours and yours to keep. </p><p>I am thou, thou art I… take everything away from the rotten who’ve committed greater sins! </p><p>A weight settles against his face and with one hand he reaches for, feeling as if there are invisible eyes peer at him from all sides, the manifestation of pride and it’s minions waiting for another successful unseen death, an invisible stepping stone to success. He pulls, tugs with strength he summons from within, peeling flesh away from bone with every movement until it's ripped away in its entirety, blood dripping from the mask's place and onto his cheeks and planting itself into the lavish carpet. </p><p>A burst of light and fire surrounds Goro, bathing him with warmth that is gentle even to his bleeding wounds. The monster claws into the floor to resist the gust of power emitting from Goro’s spot, and he feels something manifest behind him. Knowledge creeps into his mind as if it had always been there and he unsheathes the sword that found its way to his side.</p><p>“I will destroy everything your master ever cared for.” He tests the weight of the blade in his hand, so different from the toy gun, light in his hands, or the gardening shovel from so long ago, a weight for the damned, to bury and not to send them to death’s door. “And you will not stop me.”</p><p>The beast waits no more as it charges towards Goro who slices his sword in it’s direction before Goro takes a step to the side. His amateur attack misses and the lion finds a stable landing in the spot Goro had been standing before. Yet he’s close enough for the lion to swipe at him and Goro acts on instinct as he uses the sword as a sharp shield, grazing the foot of the lion. The lion snarls just before it breathes fire that Goro can’t escape from even as he backs away, flame catching on his garb but quick to stamp out.</p><p>While the heat lingers, pieces of fabric darkened by flame, he feels something call from somewhere inside him, the feeling unfamiliar but that new knowledge creeps into him again. “Robin Hood!” </p><p>He doesn’t see it, but he can sense the presence– a persona– behind him once more, and in seconds an arrow emitting a dark glow crashes into the beast and knocks it against the railing. Goro can tell the beast is still alive, but he has an opening to flee. The problem lies in determining an exit strategy in a place where he is considered hostile. Downstairs he risks drawing attention and possibly the guard becoming more alert, up is an unknown path likely treading with more foes. Furthermore he still has no idea how to leave. </p><p>His thoughts swirl for far too long, a plan undecided upon when the beast stands again and acts without warning. It leaps and all Goro can think of is to raise his arm in defense as its jaws bite into his flesh and sink in. He shakes his arm but the monster cannot be moved, instead it reaffirms the lions hold. Goro turns the sword in his other hand, free from constraints, and stabs at the monster’s neck, feels the sword as it digs deep unimpeded into its body before he pulls it out. The lion disappears into ash as if it hadn’t been there at all, leaving the injuries behind as the only sign of its existence.</p><p>He collapses onto the floor, clutching his arm to his chest as it oozes, soaking into the glove that tries to put pressure on the wound. He can sense it, deep inside, he has nothing that can heal the wound with him. Makeshift bandages at best would give him time, but his only options are pieces of his new attire, fabric from the other sleeve and his pants; everything else is already bloodsoaked and poor absorption in the first place. He’s never dealt with injuries as grave as these, but he can guess his time is limited, and his options even moreso. Even if the monster is gone, the potential of other guards is a threat and the guests will only invite it. His head spins. </p><p>The one thing he can remind himself of is that he’s wasting time sitting here without acting. He stumbles to his feet, grateful that he still is capable of walking, and starts moving somewhere, grasping at ideas with every step.</p><p>He will get out of here. He must. </p><p>XXVI. </p><p>“You’re not afraid of dying, are you?”</p><p>Another bullseye. Goro takes a step back from the mat and turns away from the board. “Should I be?” He gestures for Kurusu to step up for the third round. Kurusu stares at Goro from his perch against the wall, waiting for elaboration that isn’t coming, before he pushes himself off and picks up the first dart. </p><p>Kurusu’s first throw falls  just shy of the center, netting nineteen points instead of fifty. Goro tsks, “you’re better than this.”</p><p>Kurusu picks up the next dart but doesn’t toss it, instead examining it, rolling the tube between his fingers. “You didn’t seem afraid on Shido’s ship.” He whispers. “Did you know you were going to make it out?”</p><p>He didn’t, but he doesn’t say that, instead he says: “I had an exit strategy.” It’s a lie, and it feels far too kind despite the natural bite he shoves upon each syllable. “I knew it would be difficult to pull off, which is why I deemed it necessary to entrust the mission to you. I knew you were capable.”</p><p>The dart flies forward with an angry throw, landing center of the board with a loud thunk. Kurusu is quick to throw the third without a word, aiming for the sixty over the fifty. Beyond the collision of their hands, slap muffled by leather coverings, the switch is silent. </p><p>Goro lands another bullseye before Kurusu speaks again. “You still didn’t answer my first question.”</p><p>“And you didn’t answer mine.” The second dart embeds itself into the red again, and Goro reaches for the last dart of his for this game. “I wonder what brought this on. Is someone in your merry band of thieves plotting my murder?” He scoffs as they switch.</p><p>“You’re a part of the team now,” Kurusu replies. “No one wants to hurt you.”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Kurusu sighs under his breath, but throws the next dart. Another 60. It truly is impressive, Kurusu’s ability to recover from difficulty, from world shattering catastrophes to mundane games such as this. “I used to think you were the cautious type, but I realized it’s just a cover for how reckless you are.” </p><p>Goro frowns, watches the dart hit the fifty zone and the look of concentration on Kurusu’s face as he calculates how many points he needs to score. Goro’s image has always been important, but he had never thought of any aspect of it to be reckless. He decided his goals, made plans and stuck to them regardless of the cost, and to call that reckless makes his blood boil.</p><p>“My plans are more thorough than you seem to give me credit for, and the fact I enjoy fighting is not the same as recklessly seeking it out,” Goro says as Kurusu throws the dart into the twelve. It makes a perfect 701, because it could never be anything else with them. “If that is all it takes to make someone reckless then you would be a hypocrite.”</p><p>Kurusu slips a hand into his pocket and turns to Goro again, his face neutral despite everything. “And that’s not what I’m referring to.” Kurusu hums, looking for the words, and Goro waits longer than he should. “It’s more of… you put yourself out there without any concern for your well being. I’m worried about you.”</p><p>“I don’t need your pity.”</p><p>“And it’s not.”  Kurusu glances away. “It’s more like… I’m scared for you.” He takes a deep breath before he looks back at Goro. “I don’t want to see you die again.” His voice cracks and Kurusu shifts his weight as his gaze transfers to the tiled floors. “Yet when we’re fighting… part of me feels like I’m watching you rush to your death and there’s nothing I can do.”   </p><p>“You’re overthinking this,” Goro retorts. “Don’t waste your energy on thinking about something so pointless.” </p><p>“Maybe,” Kurusu mutters but by the tone Goro knows he’s saying that because he feels as if he has to and not because he really agrees. It’s not much of a conversation Goro would like to continue with either, so he instead goes to begin the second round they paid for, forcing Kurusu to the side before he throws the first dart.</p><p>It really is stupid, he thinks. The fear of death, of someone fearing for Goro’s inevitable death. He’s seen the prophecy of death exposed in yellow eyes many times, dimming eerie light to be snuffed out within the week. There is nothing to worry about for himself because he’s experienced the pain of death and in the end there will simply be nothing for him to think about. He tosses the second dart out, and it hits the mark just beside his previous throw. </p><p>If anything, his death will be a convenience to the others; Okumura and Sakura will get some personal satisfaction from it and his face will never haunt any of the thieves again. A stepping stone to a flawless victory on their part, another cog of corruption ripped from the machine that constructs their society. His death is simply meant to occur, just as it is with anyone else, and having experienced it once should make it easier for him. He throws the third dart and is quick to shift positions with Kurusu.</p><p>Kurusu’s reaction is strange, unwanted concern for his own would-be murderer. He watches Kurusu throw another dart, nailing the sixty with more of the aggressiveness he doesn’t witness even within the metaverse. </p><p>Maybe he’s related to why he’s still here? He shifts his gaze away, looks to the clock hovering on the other side of the room. It’s late, ticking down each second left until the moment the calling card is to be delivered. Maybe he’ll get answers, maybe he won’t.</p><p>Either way, it doesn’t really matter anymore.</p><p>X. </p><p>The red of mementos pollutes the reflection of Shibuya Station, each of his timid steps leaving behind bright graffiti. Patches of a vein-like substance crowd the walls and Goro uses them as a guide, fingers trailing on top of the squishy lines as his shoulder brushes the concrete wall beneath it. He does his best to avoid walking inside the lines of the train tracks, unsure if the cognition of this place would summon a train that would blindside him. He doesn’t know how to get where he is going, this world robbing him of every familiar landmark Goro had in reality, but his objective is known.</p><p>He wasn’t given many details, just the name of a woman, Wakaba Isshiki, and told she was the one who had discovered the existence of mementos, and was likely the reason Shido knew so much about the cognitive world. Then he was handed a gun and told that he needed to find her and shoot. </p><p>Goro was not told what would happen to her, just that they weren’t sure of what would happen since this world was built on cognition, but he had a few guesses as to what could occur.</p><p>The first thing that comes to mind is his worst case scenario: that this stranger dies because he pulls the trigger. He knows that if it comes to that, it will be the first step of many for his necessary plan for revenge. His gut tells him that it isn’t as simple as committing to the act, nerves battling at the edges of his stomach. It’s more than a bullet wound, it’s a scar, on himself, on this world. If this woman is associated with Shido then maybe it is for the better, for anyone with allegiance to Shido can become a threat to him. Furthermore, disposing of one of Shido’s inconveniences turns Goro into one of Shido’s assets, but then the second wave of thoughts come in.</p><p>The photograph he was shown of her made her look young, not much older than his mother. In the end, with Goro, it has always seemed to be young minds being disposed of by younger hands. He does not know this woman, but maybe the cycle will continue, and someone else will seek out his end. Be it a partner or a child or a friend, one more person will experience the pain of loss, and someone else will be driven to vengeance.</p><p>It’s fitting, Goro decides. His hand curls around the metallic grip, finger distant from the trigger. He has already been deemed a monster in all capacities but acts of his own and now he might have the choice to become one. It’s nothing like the heroics he dreamed of, but in some tales even the heroes kill in their pursuit of justice. At the end of all this Goro will be the person his mother needed, even if that may be some sort of villain.</p><p>The other outcomes of this situation feel gentler in comparison, a coma or memory loss, maybe, but neither feel as certain. While Goro cannot rely on certainties for how this situation will go, he must rely on his path. </p><p>Each slow step picks up with a bit more ease, a drag turning into an amateur stride. His body still brushes with the wall but it is no longer a crutch. This long road will lead him somewhere, for now it will be to the swirling vortex he suspects will take him to Isshiki. Later he imagines it will take him to others, who he cannot yet name and why he could never say, and each must be a commitment, a memory to engrave on his own grave when his day comes. </p><p>It may certainly be a sin, Goro thinks as he takes a step through the portal without glancing back, but it is one he can not be allowed to regret.</p><p>And then she stands before him: her back is turned to him, she sits on the floor with her knees curled to her chest. She glances up at something, yet there are no special features in the room. It’s a walled off horizon, no celestial signs to guide her beyond this point. </p><p>“I just needed a little bit more time,” she says to him. She doesn’t turn to him even as Goro keeps walking forward until he’s just a foot behind her. “I could have finished and we would’ve been gone if I just…” she shakes her head, stands up and at last turns to him. Isshiki looks almost normal, sleeveless turtleneck and short black hair. The things that stand out to him are her eyes, a sickly shade of gold, and the liquid shadow an aura around her. “Please,” she pleads, “just give me more time.”</p><p> “I’m not the person who can grant you your wish,” he replies. He doesn’t know how much Isshiki will remember in the real world, if she’ll even know about this conversation at all. She seems so focused on just one thing, even if he doesn’t understand what.</p><p>He peels the gun away from the holster at his side, and he’s tempted to look down at it, see how its crevices fit within his hand. The grip is comfortable as if molded for his hand but the mental toll is only growing heavier. It’s almost ironic that the father who abandoned him has gifted him a luxury gun whereas his mother was abandoned and struggled with the bills and her own health; it’s as if those two worlds collide in this moment, this item a symbol of something connecting both.</p><p>Isshiki doesn’t move when he raises the gun towards her, but her eyes follow the end of the steel and stares as it meets her at eye level. “I’m sorry,” he decides to say, “but I’m simply doing what must be done.”</p><p>Before he has the chance to pull the trigger Isshiki disappears in an explosion of black and red liquid that falls over the space her body used to be, creating a puddle where she stood. From it emerges a cross-legged white baboon. Without any warning the beast charges and Goro scrambles to the side and trips over a rail but manages to recover before he falls. </p><p>As Goro takes another step forward he feels a faint gust of wind at his back. Goro turns on his heel and faces the monster who lunges forward and swings the book at his chest. The book knocks into his side and sends him reeling from the impact. He staggers back and feels the pain bloom where the tome had hit him. </p><p>“Loki!” The persona appears before him and without hesitation swings its longsword at the creature. The blade strikes the creature in the chest and knocks it against the back wall. </p><p>In seconds the creature scurries back to its feet and thrusts the book open before it as if a prayer. As it does Goro feels the heat of the blue light envelop and expand around him, heat peeling away flecks of cloth and flesh to leave behind patchy layers of skin, blood pooling within thin flaking edges. </p><p>Goro doesn’t give it another chance to strike and rushes forward to slash at the baboon, a thick wound spreading across the center of its chest. Goro readjusts his sword grip to stab it but his thrust is blocked by the beast’s book. The sword becomes trapped within the book’s pages, and Goro pulls his sword free just in time to escape an incoming uppercut. </p><p>He retreats a couple steps back, reaching for the mask on his face. “Robin Hood!” He screeches. Robin Hood appears behind him and aims another arrow of light at the beast. The beast does not react to the hit. The shadow runs closer and Goro calls the persona’s name again, but instead of light it summons shadow around the arrow tip, but the baboon ignores the blow and swipes at Goro’s chest just as he leaps back, stumbling into a crouched position as he lands. Pain emits from his ankle, but there’s no time to consider it as Goro rolls away to dodge another strike.</p><p>“Loki!” he yells again. Loki swings his sword at the creature again, who dodges with graceful jump back. Goro, back on his feet, yells for the persona again and this time the blow doesn’t miss. The beast staggers from the blow, falling to its knees and attempting to stand.</p><p>But this time Goro refuses to give it the chance and rushes towards it and strikes at the monster's neck. There is no time or room for it to dodge again, and rather than move the monster freezes in place before transforming once more. In front of him, the shadow of Wakaba Isshiki returns on hands and knees. He sheathes his sword and trades it for the gun.    </p><p>“Is this..?” she turns to look at him once more. “Please, I need to…” she stops protesting on her own. “I see…” </p><p>“This must be done.” He repeats his earlier words to himself as he aims the gun. He watches the teary eyed form, hand clutched before its chest. His hesitation for the final blow lasts a second too long; he grits his teeth and the trigger clicks beneath his finger. The blast is loud, ringing in his ears and sore for his shoulder, but Wakaba Isshiki is silent as she reels back, a bleeding hole in her head as she collapses on the floor. Goro watches the corpse for a moment, waiting to see if it would rise from fatality, but it lingers for minutes before the same tar that transformed it consumes the body and melts its remains into the floor of mementos. </p><p>Only then does Goro drop the gun to his side, panting from exertion, staying still in that place for only a minute more. He stumbles away, the pain in his ankle becoming more apparent with each step he takes. He doesn’t look back. </p><p>(Shido doesn’t tell him about Isshiki’s fate. Goro finds out about her death on the news, a horrific accident witnessed by the woman’s daughter. He doesn’t hear about the oddities of her corpse until a week later, where he’s congratulated for a job well done and told about Isshiki’s black tears through the photo of the body. </p><p>He can’t taste his food that night.)</p><p>XI.</p><p>It’s a budding politician on Sunday. Pulling the trigger, despite only being the second name in his record, is so much easier than the first that Goro stares at his hands, imagines a coat of blood from two victims painting them and buys a pair of gloves. The sight of the human corpse on the news makes his stomach twist but this time it’s easier to digest the facts, to understand the startling imagery unfolding in the seconds before this person’s death. </p><p>The next target condemned to die is just a serious threat to Shido’s political career, Shido insists as much over the phone. The act is done that night, but the body isn’t discovered until three days later, collapsing at dinner with his family. There’s no photo this time, yet Goro remembers when he stumbled upon his mother’s corpse, existing in the darkness. Goro thinks he can empathize with those left behind, just a little bit, but he knows in the end it doesn’t matter anyway.</p><p>When he next meets with Shido instead of a photo the man pulls out a bottle of wine and pours two glasses, gestures for Goro to take one as he takes the other for himself. He’s told it’s a victory celebration, what will be the first of many Goro presumes, and his smile is clumsy as he takes a sip. It’s fruity in a way he can’t name and makes him far too tipsy for the metaverse trip he has that night, but he goes anyway, stumbles his way into killing the next target, a researcher from Isshiki’s team who was suspicious about the cause of her death. In his sleep he dreams of the body, red wine spilling from their eyes instead of the remnants of their shadow.</p><p>Goro plays the waiting game for a couple weeks after, focusing on his new work at the precinct. The next name is not a politician nor one of Isshiki’s ilk, but a businessman who backed out of a campaign funding deal. It’s the first death he has no reaction to at all.</p><p>There are far too many names in the weeks that follows, the first time he’s been assigned more than one soul to take in one trip. It becomes a constant, and Goro becomes stronger to match, earlier stumbles and twisted ankles turning into perfect landings and enthusiastic spinning kicks. As his proficiency grows, he learns to relish in the rush of adrenaline from each conquest, a hesitation built into some corrupted sense of joy. </p><p>For the individuals who worked with Shido in their life, he kills them with a grudge and leaves the bodies behind with no regrets; at the end of it all they were corrupt stepping stones for many, including himself. For the individuals who were caught in the crossfire of Shido’s dubious affairs, it’s easier to finish the task when he remembers that these people, had they been in his place, would have not spared anyone else either.</p><p>The night before his next meeting with Shido, he dreams of Shido’s murder, of strangling the man, Goro’s fingers tight around his neck, thumbs pressing into Shido’s stuttering pulse, and watching the life spill out of him as he wheezes out apologetic lies in desperate attempts for release. He dies, feels the chill of the handcuffs clicking around his wrist, and wakes up.</p><p>Names pile upon more names, each execution turning into a death certificate, a reminder to Goro of what must be done, for each name written out and each funeral was another step closer to Shido’s grave. There are multiple celebrations for his pursuits, alcohol tolerance eventually rivaling an experienced adult. The drinks become more bitter, acid lingering on his tongue as he takes the new list of names and exits the facility, gun securely tucked into his suitcase yet rattling in his mind alongside the corpses piling higher with every passing day.</p><p>He has long since passed the point of no return, and Goro can’t see another path but forward anyway.   </p><p>XII.</p><p>They’re leaving Shibuya after their trip to the arcade when they hear the meowing. </p><p>It’s incessant and ignored by the many passersby of Shibuya’s streets, but Goro watches as Kurusu starts looking for the source of the noise without any hesitation. He only pauses to stare at Goro who understands the look for what it is and joins in the search. It’s loud and grating on its ears, clawing at his skull with its wounded cries, but it is what makes him realize there is a faint scratching sound in the distance. </p><p>Goro turns to face the alley next to where he’s standing, eyes narrowing onto the dumpster. Before he can even prompt Kurusu to check he’s already walking over with a purposeful stride. “Good catch,” he murmurs as he passes by. </p><p>“But of course,” Goro replies in a near whisper. Kurusu is already examining the dumpster before he looks behind him for a brief moment and opens the lid. As Goro approaches he can see Kurusu shuffling the trash bags around, digging for the noise that seems to get louder the more Kurusu leans into the dumpster. </p><p>After a minute of struggling to push aside some of the bags, Kurusu pauses and grabs onto something only to pull his hands back out seconds later, shaking his right hand before examining it. Goro steps next to Kurusu and sees a faint red mark spanning from his thumb to his wrist. He’s not familiar with cat scratches himself, but he’s overheard coworkers and classmates complain about them on occasion, about how they’ll sting before they start to bleed. </p><p>“Would you like me to run to 777 and get you a bandage? I’m afraid I don't tend to carry them with me.” He does have some in his briefcase, tucked within a smaller bag that fits within. The problem is all of them are higher grade medical supplies, far too much to use for a small scratch, far too few to spare for anyone other than himself. He also knows that carrying around such supplies without being a medical professional would be suspicious in itself, and he cannot give Kurusu any reason to start.</p><p>“It’ll be fine.” Kurusu stares at his hand for a second longer. “I think.” He turns back to the dumpster. “Are you any good with animals?”</p><p>He thinks to the bird from years ago, how it cowered away from him, only succumbing to his pleas with patience. Other than brief moments from his childhood he hasn’t been around other animals much, his only recent experiences being the passing pets of strangers. “I don’t have a lot of experience with them.” He shakes his head, fingers moving into a thoughtful position. “My only guess is that we need to be patient and wait until it’ll come willingly, assuming, of course, it ever will want to. Was there a reason it reacted so harshly?”</p><p>Kurusu nods his head towards the dumpster just as the cut begins to bleed. It’s not a lot, just a thin pool around the opening, and Kurusu presses the cut to his jeans. “It’s pretty bad.” Is all he says before he steps aside.</p><p>Goro takes one more glance around the vicinity, no one’s watching and with the evening shadow cast over the alley it’s unlikely he’ll be spotted. He rolls up his sleeves before he lifts himself just enough to peer over the edge. The first thing he notices is how much worse the smell is up close, rotten food reeking, but there’s a mix of something else, and he realizes after a minute it might be feces, which was possibly the cats. His eyes take another minute to find it, half-hidden behind a trash bag. </p><p>The cat is in a far worse state than Goro had expected when they started looking. He can’t see all the injuries, and he can only assume there are more considering the gravity of the wounds he can see: a long cut sits over the right eyelid, starting from the cat’s forehead to its mouth, the blood from the injury long dried and part of its left ear is missing. Goro has not seen many animals, but even the bird hadn’t looked as pitiful as this.</p><p>“I heard a rumor about an animal abuser at work the other day.” Kurusu says as Goro steps down from his spot. Kurusu stares in the vague direction he assumes the cat is in. “I suspect they could be a victim…” Kurusu frowns.</p><p>“I’m not specialized with those sorts of cases, but I’ll see what I can do about it.” Though Goro imagines it’s a possibility Kurusu is planning on dealing with the problem soon enough, especially after seeing this. Regardless of which he can prepare to take in someone, or perform the arrest himself if Kurusu and the Phantom Thieves are more incapable than he thought. “However, our primary issue is that we need some sort of medical attention.” He had not expected his night to spiral in such a direction, knows that Kurusu will want help but not ask for it, and while he does have business in the metaverse, he doesn’t mind putting it off for a while longer. “What do you propose?”</p><p>“I could call my doctor,” he says. Kurusu pulls out his phone and starts to unlock it. </p><p>“Are they a veterinarian as well?” </p><p>“No.” Kurusu pauses and looks back up at Goro. “I don’t think any of the clinics are open this late.” </p><p>Right, he has a cat, Goro reminds himself. It must make this all the more personal for Kurusu. “Is your doctor really any more qualified than either of us to treat it’s injuries?”</p><p>“She’s still a doctor, which is better than either of us.” Kurusu glances back at his phone and scrolls a little more, then makes a single tap before looking back at Goro. “Could you get the cat? I’m gonna let her know.”</p><p>He hits the call button before Goro can even protest. He waits a few seconds more, clear that Kurusu will be a couple of minutes if his unrelated comments are anything to go by. He checks the area once more before he pulls himself up and stares at the cat. The cat watches him for only a few seconds before it decides to hiss with every bit of its strength, each louder and longer than the last. Despite the cat’s vigor  it doesn’t take long for it to give up scaring him away, but he suspects it is only because its good eye is ready to track Goro’s movement.  </p><p>He feels a tap on his shoulder but doesn’t look away from the cat. “Any luck?”</p><p>“It’s not hissing at me anymore,” Goro concedes. “And your doctor?”</p><p>“Kind enough to help our friend here, but I think she’s a little impatient. She was just about to go home when I called her.” Kurusu tucks his phone back into his pocket. Goro drops off of the dumpster once more, gesturing for Kurusu to take his place. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”</p><p>“I think it’s more important its more comfortable around you than me.” He glances again at the dumpster. “And I think I’d get bitten instead of clawed at, so you have better chances of earning it’s trust than I.”</p><p>“You could’ve, if you’d give them time and a chance,” Kurusu says. </p><p>Goro shakes his head. “I’m not good with animals.”</p><p>Kurusu doesn’t say anything at first, turning to the dumpster and taking up Goro’s old perch. He doesn’t look back at Goro as he speaks: “I’m surprised you’re admitting that so easily–”</p><p>“I don’t think this is a situation we should put the cat at risk.”</p><p>“You’re right about that.” Kurusu’s head shifts. “But you’re usually not… open about those sorts of things.”</p><p>Goro stiffens, and glances back toward the street. He crosses his arm and watches the people passing by, all ignorant of two school-aged children hanging around the dumpster in a back alley. A suspicious sight, but not worthy of viewing. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”</p><p>“No– ow,” he hisses again. “I’m glad, actually, that you’d tell me that.” He pauses. “And I think it’s something we’re both bad at. Maybe next time we should try and go to a petting zoo?”</p><p>Goro chuckles. “A petting zoo?” He takes out his phone to check the time, grimances at how late it has gotten, before he slips it back into his pocket. </p><p>“Yup,” Kurusu says. Goro hears him shuffle a bit in place, but he hasn’t moved much when Goro finally looks his way again. “I mean, the animals are probably treated better, so it’s a good place to start learning.” </p><p>“And not with your cat?”</p><p>“Oh, he’s a different, and an awful place to start. I think Morgana owns me, not the other way around.” He pauses, and Kurusu reaches forward again, and he seems to grab hold of something without flinching back. “Tells me when to go to bed and everything.”</p><p>“How inconvenient.” </p><p>“Very. I can already hear him yelling about how I brought another stray home– wait, no, that would be Boss.” Kurusu takes a slow step back from the dumpster. “Speaking of, this one’s really hurt. We should hurry.”</p><p>When Kurusu turns around Goro sees it cradled against Kurusu’s chest. It paws at his chest with claws tucked in. It’s hard to see the cat well in Kurusu’s arms along with the darkness, but he sees patches of missing fur with hints of cuts and bruises.</p><p>“I would go with you, however I should get going before it gets too late.” He doesn’t have a lot of time left if he wants to guarantee completion of his mission and time to work on some paperwork before he sleeps for the evening. “Do keep me updated. And I will let you know if we manage an arrest related to those rumors, who did you learn about it from?”</p><p>“From work,” Kurusu says but doesn’t elaborate. Instead he approaches the street, “we should hurry to the station.” It’s an obvious diversion, and completely unnecessary, but Goro lets it go regardless. Maybe he shouldn’t, let Kurusu know he’s onto him, but there is far too much at stake for Goro to risk a massive slip up. </p><p>“...you’re right. Let’s go.” Goro strides out of the alleyway ahead of Kurusu, believing that for now Kurusu will be right behind him.</p><p>XV. </p><p>“...Then, I’ll guide the police into her palace and have them catch the Phantom Thieves in the act.” Goro pushes himself off the barren wall of his apartment and strolls over the window, pushing aside the curtain. </p><p>“That would be the only way to arrest them, given their methods,” Goro continues as he stares at a distant point outside. The view isn’t spectacular, just the tiny little alleyway that sits between his apartment complex and another, but there is a murder of crows wandering around, picking at scraps. One of them stands at a distance, watching their companions as they dig for gold, a vigilant guard or a thief waiting to strike. </p><p>“I’ll deal with them after that.” That part will be easy, as it will simply be domino crashing one against another, similar to the inevitable moment a human wanders into an alley and shoo away its unwanted guests. A couple of the thieves may emerge physically unscathed, it would be suspicious if they all died so close together, and Goro can’t imagine all the hits going out before Shido’s demise in December. He can’t say how many will have to die, but he already knows who will be the first to go. “Let me see… We could say he stole the guard’s gun and committed suicide during his imprisonment… How about that?” </p><p>The fact that it will be Kurusu’s death lingers in the back of his mind. In all of this he is one of the innocent, the only innocent person Goro met before the execution date. In most stories Goro imagines that Kurusu would have been considered Goro’s perfect rival; phantom thief and detective, destined to try and outwit each other. But this has always been a rigged game with the deck stacked against Kurusu. Had things been different maybe they could have been true friends rather than living out the fabricated fantasy of their get togethers. Instead Kurusu is another human who cannot fight back whose only purpose is to become another corpse.</p><p>“Public security questioning will occur on the first day…” He starts again after Shido’s commentary. “And with that room, my task will be simple. Yes, the guard will be one of ours.” He nods to no one but himself. “We’ll have to eliminate him after to destroy the evidence though…” </p><p>In the alleyway a pair of high school students enter and disturb the crows, half of them in flight the moment they turn the corner. Some flap over to a new spot, hoping to avoid them inside the narrow alley. The duo wanders over and their loud voices send all but one flying off; The one who had been the murder’s guard stands before the humans before it lifts off inches away from the two high schools who step back in shock. It disappears on it’s own, into the horizon and long out of Goro’s sight.  </p><p>“Well then, I will make the arrangements the day after the arrest… And thus, the dangerous criminal responsible for the mass mental shutdowns shall end his own life. When he does, you will become a great hero who saved Japan from evil. As will I, of course.”  </p><p>Erasure of what could be considered the heroes of history repeating itself once again, to leave behind those who claim just victory for themselves. Deceit is history’s only fact, he’s seen that truth play out in politics and business and science too many times to deny it. </p><p>It’s almost a shame that this is how it will end. But there is only one path forward, carved with a mile of gravestones he’d crafted himself. </p><p>The sun begins to set and he closes the curtains.  	</p><p>XVI. </p><p>“I know someone who would be very disappointed to see her pawn die.” Kurusu smiles as Goro sets the captured pawn to the side of the chessboard. It’s the first piece that will fall in their latest match, the first of many mistakes Kurusu will make in the course of their game.</p><p>“Chess pieces do not have sentience,” Goro responds. “They have no thought so they simply cannot die.” </p><p>Kurusu moves another pawn forward. “Maybe not in the sense we’re familiar with,” Kurusu says, with the grin on his face that tells Goro he will take this as far as it will go, no matter how nonsensical it started. “Many things can die.”</p><p>“Or rather, cease to exist.” Goro moves another piece forward. “There is a difference between the erasure of ideas and death of a soul, assuming, of course, you believe in the idea behind a soul. Otherwise it would simply be decay of the body.”</p><p>“Do you believe, then?”</p><p>“Many philosophers throughout the ages theorized a wide array of possibilities for what it means to have a soul. Some of those ideas may sound nice, especially since the general idea of having a soul is so widely believed.” Goro watches as Kurusu moves a different piece this time. </p><p>In the past the idea of a soul had been pleasant. But each body seen was another chance to see the same effects of death. It was a cycle, from the way the body would rot while waiting for cremation to the memorabilia left behind spawning nostalgic sorrow. In the end there is no sense of anything but the physical, the objects to the tears to the ashes. It’s better that way, because the idea of an immortal soul means they are meant to travel and perpetually exist. By removing the soul’s existence it means there is no damnation or painful second lives that people like his mother could be condemned to suffer through. </p><p>“Yet despite all that I can’t bring myself to say I believe in them,” Goro continues. “Souls are simply just a spiritual way to explain thought. However it is our brains that are truly what is connected to our thoughts, and thus we can deem the idea of a soul unnecessary.”</p><p>“Maybe so,” Kurusu hums. Goro makes his move. “But I don’t think that’s entirely true.” </p><p>“Then what do you think?” Kurusu is quick to swipe a piece off the board, his first win of the night. </p><p>He doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, chess pieces move and Goro wins another small scuffle of their chess pieces. “I think the soul is more than our thoughts,” Kurusu starts as he moves again. “It’s… a collection of who we are. Everything that makes us what we are. It’s every way that we express ourselves.”</p><p>Like a Persona, is Goro’s first thought as he nods in understanding. </p><p>“Kind of like… our mark on the world.” Kurusu moves a piece forward, and Goro, having expected that play, is swift to counter it. “It’s contagious and almost tangible… I don’t think it’s simply enough for the brain to function as a soul, as the brain is mechanical, but the soul is meant to be free. I think that’s the difference.” </p><p>“If the soul is free then where does it go when the human vessel dies?” Goro ponders. Pieces are exchanged again, and Goro adds another pawn to his collection. “If the soul is mortal then it simply ceases to exist and serves no purpose. If the soul is immortal then that implies there must be something the soul can do after death.”</p><p>“Most likely,” Kurusu agrees as his bishop moves. “I imagine it would travel. I don’t know where it would go, perhaps wherever it wants to?” Goro moves a piece. In another second Kurusu swaps Goro’s piece for another one of his, setting the white chess piece next to the two others he’s claimed. </p><p>“That would imply it has many options, such as we see in a multitude of religions and mythologies.”</p><p>“And it does,” Kurusu agrees.</p><p>Goro lets the game play out for a few more minutes in silence. “When you die is there anywhere specific you would like your soul to go?” He takes Kurusu’s queen and sets it in the pile. The number of Kurusu’s options are dwindling with every piece stolen, and victory edges closer. </p><p>Kurusu stares at the board, fingers fiddling with his hair as he contemplates his move. “I think I’d simply like to live again,” he says. “What about you?”</p><p>“And didn’t I just say I didn’t believe in such an idea?” Goro smirks, and the grin on Kurusu’s faces widens to match it.</p><p>“Humor me.”</p><p>His first thought is that if souls were real then his would simply be sent to some equivalent of hell; it makes sense considering that most criminals do not escape punishment. His next thought would be that it would join his mother, wherever her soul may have gone, but there is both shame and joy in that notion. Maybe his soul could run away, travel out of reach of anything that would destroy it, but then he remembers that there is no running. There is no appealing option, not really, when each choice only ends with another scar that can never heal. A simple end would be much easier.</p><p>Instead of saying as much he says: “A second chance at life would be nice,” It’s an impossible fantasy but he’ll indulge Kurusu’s imagination for now. He moves a chess piece one last time. “Checkmate.”</p><p>XIII. </p><p><strong>Akira Kurusu:</strong> reo passed away :(</p><p><strong>Goro Akechi:</strong> Reo?</p><p><strong>Akira Kurusu:</strong> the cat we found yesterday</p><p><strong>Akira Kurusu:</strong> takemi said there was a chance he would but i was hopeful </p><p><strong>Goro Akechi:</strong> He did not seem to be in good shape when we found him… it’s a shame. I’m sorry for the loss. </p><p>Kurusu doesn’t message him again, and Goro starts on a school assignment that is due in two weeks. It’s the first chance he has to work on it, with higher priority being given to his jobs. </p><p>In the back of his mind, he thinks of the cat, whose resilience was not enough. It’s simply the way of the world and it could be argued the swift death was a kindness. The effects from the attack on that cat would be an array of permanent scars that would take years to cleanse. An unwanted reality turned into another unlovable life because no one would bother with such an openly scarred creature. Goro would know.</p><p>A short time later he hears the faint vibration of his phone once more, and Goro pauses his typing to check it.</p><p><strong>Akira Kurusu:</strong> boss said maybe i should bury him since we can’t cremate him</p><p><strong>Akira Kurusu:</strong> the problem is he didn’t have any ideas where and i don’t either. any ideas mr. detective?</p><p>There’s one spot that comes to mind, the distant memories reawakened once more: a bird gone silent and his mother asleep, caressed under shadow and sunlight speckles. He hasn’t been there in years, but he imagines the isolation of that spot, no prying eyes as a creature is laid to rest, no one to come pay respects to the forgotten. </p><p>It should be simple to just tell Kurusu where he needs to go; he has work to do and he shouldn’t take the time out of his day to do something so out of the ordinary. It’d be easier for the both of them to throw the corpse in the dumpster where they found it, to let the smell of decay join the decomposing waste. </p><p>Instead of messaging him either of these things, he tells Kurusu to meet him at Shibuya Station in an hour.</p><p>XIV.</p><p>The miniature forest is warmer than Goro remembers. </p><p>He can’t remember when in the year it had been when he and his mother had their trek together through the trees. The leaves hanging off of each branch are dimmer than the luminescent hue they had back then. The jutting roots are harder to spot, only because he is no longer close to the ground, but it’s simple to pay attention and step over them. </p><p>Behind him, he catches Kurusu hopping over each large root, gaze towards the hidden sky rather than to watch his footing. There is silence between the two of them, only the cicada’s song and the cracking of sticks beneath their feet, the city becoming harder to see the closer they get to the center of this hidden gem. </p><p>It’d be easy to take the shovel from Kurusu, offer to dig the hole for himself, use its hefty weight against the back of Kurusu’s head before he buries Kurusu along with the cat. Two victims rotting in the middle of nowhere, buried in some proximity to the bird and memories of innocent days.</p><p>Instead, Goro stops and turns to Kurusu, who glances around the area before he nods and gets to work. Kurusu works fast, there’s no time for Goro to lay down and try and seek the same peace his mother had found under nature's rooftops, to try and understand what it feels to become one with earth like the deceased with their ashes spread to wind and sea and then lost. It takes minutes for there to be enough space for Kurusu’s make-shift coffin, and he’s gentle as he sets it inside the hole, kneeling in prayer to some unknown god that will not answer, before he begins to bury the body.</p><p>When he’s done, Kurusu collapses once more to the ground, and Goro doesn’t sit but he moves to stand closer. “This is a good spot,” are the first words spoken between them in the past hour. </p><p>“It is,” Goro acknowledges. He glances away from Kurusu to look back the way they came. There’s no sign of their footsteps, just a mass of melded browns and faint slopes, an indicator that they would otherwise never have been here at all. “I buried my first pet here.”</p><p>“What was their name?” He feels Kurusu’s eyes shift towards him.</p><p>Goro frowns at the question; he remembers, faintly, that he had occasionally taken to calling the bird something in those few days it had been around, something other than his mother’s simple nickname. But while the image of the bleeding bird is stark in his memory he doesn’t remember the pattern of its chirping or the color of its eyes. “I don’t remember. My mother would call him my friend.” </p><p>“Reo and your friend got a nice place to sleep, then.” Kurusu stands up and brushes at some of the dirt on his legs. “I like it here.” Goro turns to look at Kurusu again, who still stares at him. “We should come back sometime and pay our respects.”</p><p>“We didn’t know them long.”</p><p>“But we knew them, and cared for them.” Kurusu wears a small but sad smile. “I think that counts for something.”</p><p>Does that time matter, Goro wonders, as he imagines Kurusu’s body, washed in ceremony before it is burned, his friends and family pulling bones away from ash. Does time spent caring really matter when it will be Goro who will seal Kurusu’s fate? </p><p>“Then I hope they believe that is enough.”</p><p>XVII.</p><p>It almost doesn’t feel like an infiltration when the hallways are familiar, when his presence is expected by most and a surprise to few. He catches the recognition from guard, the lack of fear the man’s tell that Goro the guard thinks he’s guarding what Goro expects is someone who is already half dead. </p><p>“May I ask you to accompany me?” He asks with a faint quiver in his voice, just another act for his  innocent ruse. “Going in unarmed to interrogate a murderer makes me uncomfortable…” </p><p>The officer nods and unlocks the door, taking the lead and Goro is swift to follow. Goro feels the temperature drop as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. The room is as he expected, a metallic cage built as an interrogation room. </p><p>His eyes are drawn to the center, toward the table where Kurusu watches their entry with hazy eyes, but his shoulders are stiff and his guard is up. He’s seen Kurusu injured before from their time in Sae’s palace, but he’s never seen Kurusu so beaten with red bruises scattered across the contours of his face, a cut on his lip and a couple more on the side of his face. Some of the marks extend to his hands, the only other bit of skin Goro can see, but his clothes are rumpled and Goro can only begin to imagine the injuries beneath. This is to be expected for anyone who crosses Shido’s ire. </p><p>He turns to the guard, takes a silent step forward and pulls the gun out of the holster. Goro attaches the silencer to the end of the pistol just as the guard turns and they’re met with the end of their own gun. </p><p>“Ah! What’re you–” </p><p>A quiet bang.</p><p>The action is simple and the guard crumples to the ground with a thud. Goro’s aim follows the guard down, watches and waits for any remaining twitch but the man is still as he bleeds out on the cement floor. </p><p>“I owe you for all this… Thanks.” The blood pools around the stranger’s body and creates an outline. He watches as it expands at a slow pace, sinking into the gaps between each tile, inching closer to the tip of his shoes. “That’s right. You and your little friends were vital to our plan. And now, it will be completed. Your popularity truly was stunning. That just made using you all the more worthwhile…” </p><p>He only lifts his gaze from the corpse when he’s certain the blood has stopped expanding. He doesn’t look at Kurusu’s face yet, just plays his next words in his head, imagining the expression Kurusu wears instead of turning to see it for himself. Did he beat Kurusu once more, or will he have suspected something and appear resigned to fate? </p><p>He tugs at one of his gloves, the replacement for the one which had been tossed at Kurusu. He wonders what happened to it: maybe Kurusu could have disregarded his plea for a duel, tossed the glove away in the trash, let it fray amongst other unwanted mementos; or maybe he had kept it, deposited somewhere almost forgotten, prepared to return it on a future outing that would never come. </p><p>He raises the gun to the ceiling, a final mercy to Kurusu or some futile attempt to prolong the inevitable. Goro takes one last deep breath before he turns, met with Kurusu, the hurt clear in cloudy eyes. There’s no sign of tears, no sign of resignation, just betrayal and pain muddled by drugs. How much of it is true to Kurusu, and how much of his response is submerged under the effects of chemicals Goro cannot name? </p><p>“Have you finally pieced it all together?” The gun clicks as he shifts the aim to Kurusu, who looks even more startled than he had even a minute ago. Goro can feel the maniacal grin form on his face, one he’s witnessed in the mirror a few times before, a demon who haunts him and every hunt. </p><p>“Case closed… This is how your ‘justice’ ends.” </p><p>The gunshot seems louder than it should, reverberating in his mind as blood leaks from Kurusu’s skull, dripping over his forehead before his body smacks against the table, blood coloring the metallic sheen red. He takes a careful step forward and pushes the tip of the gun into Kurusu’s hair, twisting the curls into a knot. </p><p>His lips twist into a natural frown that he is quick to catch, changing it to a smirk. Kurusu is dead, he is one step closer to victory. Just like the others, Kurusu had been another stepping stone, and soon the last piece shall fall. Kurusu had been simple to fool and easy to manipulate, a black sheep amongst white sheep, fated to be devoured by wolves. </p><p>In the end, there was nothing special about him.     </p><p>At last he twists the silencer off the gun, sets it gently into the open palm of Kurusu’s hand before he slips the silencer inside his coat. It’s another successful mission, two more corpses at his feet. He should be proud as he leaves the crime scene with a forced smile and exits the room as if he had been the ghost. In this moment, there should be a subtle skip to his steps, suppressed elation at a job well done. There isn’t. </p><p>XVIII.</p><p>He watches the fire of the incense flicker in and out.</p><p>This certainly hadn’t been the best place to light it, surrounded by trees on all sides and twigs beneath him. But his view of the flame is clear, the darkness settling after sunset allowing it to stand out amongst everything else. He sits close, eyes chasing flame and ready to stop it in case it begins to go wild.</p><p>It would be fitting for Kurusu if the flames were to grow and fester, burning down everything that stands in the way, but he also imagines Kurusu would like the area to remain undisturbed, only incinerating Goro and any other signs of corruption in this peaceful place. </p><p>Maybe he should have visited his mother instead of this place, honored her memory more than a boy he’s known for less than a year, but the site where her ashes were buried felt sacred and he had no right to wander there until his goal was complete. </p><p>But she liked it here, too, and for now, this will be the best place to pay respects for the both of them, and subsequently the two animals who he tried to save with them, two more failures within his self-created destruction.</p><p>Wooden ashes fall and winter winds push against the fire’s life, but Goro sits still in his silent vigil for them, an honor he has no right to but steals anyway. </p><p>Soon, he promises them.</p><p>XIX.</p><p>The claws on his gauntlets dig into his knees as he struggles to stay standing. The pressure keeps him steady, the pain keeps him aware as he watches someone else’s version of himself, similar to all the parts of himself he wants to rip apart and idolizing the things he hates. The barrel of his foe’s gun feels far closer than it is, a taunt on the outskirt of his vision.</p><p>“Here, I’ll give you one last chance. Shoot them.” </p><p>He takes a shaky breath as he looks down at the floor, thoughts running as he recalls the layout of the room, figuring out what tools are at his disposal to help himself and even Kurusu and the thieves out of this mess. Many options flicker through his mind and are just as swiftly discarded; in the end Goro realizes there is only one morbidly satisfying conclusion to this problem and he can’t help but laugh.</p><p>His eyes move to look at the gap in the flooring, where the barricade will appear. Had he fallen for the thieves' sweet words and agreed to their pleas, taken a step closer and taken their hands, maybe he’d have been on the right side of this, or maybe he would have trapped them all and sealed their fates. Maybe that would have made Shido proud, and the thought itself makes Goro recoil.</p><p>Regardless of the consequences, disappointing Shido was the most appealing option. The Phantom Thieves making it out of here would be one last fuck you from Goro to Shido.</p><p>“Haha… I was such a fool.” He rises and aims his gun at Joker. His body aches and exhaustion rushes through him at just this action, but he knows he has just enough energy to do what’s next.</p><p>“Yes… That’s the you our captain wishes to see” </p><p>He shakes his head. “...don’t misunderstand. You’re the one who’s going to disappear!” He twists around and shoots the cognition. It falls to its knees and Goro turns once more, shoots with perfect precision as the glass shatters and the bullet pierces the button. </p><p>The floor shakes and the metal rumbles as it shoots up, and Goro can’t help but smile a bit when he thinks of how even at the end he hasn’t missed his mark. </p><p>“The watertight bulkhead door has closed. All personnel within the partition walls: evacuate at once.”</p><p>“Whoa, what is this?” The voice is muffled with the wall between them, but he can still hear Oracle’s shock.</p><p>He hears pounding on the door. “Akechi!” Skull yells. </p><p>“Hurry up and go,” Goro yells. He presses his back against the cool partition for stability. He will stay upright, and now at least now no one will see his legs wobble beneath him.  </p><p>“You fool!” Fox shouts at him, and Goro’s not sure if he’s heard Fox raise his voice like that in the short time he’s known him. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”</p><p>“The real fools… are you guys.” He frowns and glances away from the bulkhead door. His eyes scan over the shadows who stand at the ready for either their next command or Goro to perish on his own. “You should have just abandoned me here a long time ago…” his throat burns with every word, igniting with each quick breath caught between every sentence. “You would have all perished… if you had tried to face these with me weighing you down…” The coughs escape before he can try and hide it, each hack really just another step closer to the end. </p><p>“Akechi-kun!” Even Queen? He shakes his head at the absurdity. </p><p>“Let’s make a deal, okay? You won’t say no, will you?” </p><p>He hears Fox speak again, but he ignores what he has to say. It doesn’t matter now, nothing much matters now, except this. He has clawed through hell to get this far, knows he may not be able to see it through to the end, but he will not let those decisions, those small imperfect moments spanning across his lifetime, be in complete vain. </p><p>“Change Shido’s heart… in my stead… end his crimes… please!”</p><p>On the other side of the door, silence stirs. But here, the discontent from the shadows starts to blossom. “I’ll hold onto your glove.” Joker’s voice is confident, a bit sorrowful but absolutely certain of his unwavering belief, and Goro cannot help but gasp at the steadfast confession.  </p><p>He shakes his head, glances back at the door for just a few seconds. “Heh… After all this time, that’s what you have to say? Seriously, you really are…” Movement catches his eye and he sees the cognition stand back up, hand pressed against the bullet wound. </p><p>“You bastard!” It shouts and for the last time Goro sees the end of the road before his very eyes. He steps away from the wall and stands to mirror his foe. </p><p>“So, my final enemy is a puppet version of myself…” It’s a perfect end, one last confrontation within this ship’s nightmare, the worst one of all a manifestation of a twisted version of himself. </p><p>He thinks back to the first time he’d found himself here on this ship; maybe there are things that he should have done differently, turned back before he entered, refused to listen to any of his demons but instead he followed the path laid before him. </p><p>But there’s no point in thinking about what if’s– with his options this was the best road he could’ve taken, there were no alternatives and no room for doubts, and now there is only one last regret, that one mission left unfulfilled, that has been left to Joker.</p><p>He’ll get it done. And then it will be over.</p><p>He closes his eyes for a brief moment, and the calm within him is strange. Goro should be angry, but all he feels is stillness while he bleeds, shakes from loss but not from fear. </p><p>Maybe he can thank Kurusu in his nonexistent next life. He chokes on laughter of the impossible, and steadies his aim. </p><p>Now to finish it.</p><p>“I…!” </p><p>XX.</p><p>He remembers nothing of the last two weeks.</p><p>He remembers saying his last word, thinking his last thoughts, felt the press of the trigger of the gun within his hand, and then he’s in Shibuya, only a few feet away from Kurusu and Sae, just distant enough to be out of their view but still capable of eavesdropping on their conversation. </p><p>It’s easier to think about it once he’s sitting in a jail cell, conveying answers to questions with ease. Goro doesn’t have to think much about it, just spill out the words they wish to hear and then rot away in solitude for the rest of his days.</p><p>Those two weeks, almost three now, still make no sense. He can’t remember the feeling of getting shot, he’s certain he fell unconscious just as he had been hit. There was no one who could rescue him, and if there had been it certainly hadn’t been Kurusu or any one of his followers. </p><p>When the miracle of being released occurs, it doesn’t feel like a coincidence that two positive but impossible occurrences happened so close together. The people he passes throughout the town add more weight theory, the news telling tales of neverending hopes without interspersing any sort of tragedy between each. It’s almost like he’s walking in a fairy tale, but just like the original stories there is always something dark lurking within them.</p><p>In this nauseating world he’s just a walking ghost, and there is just one last thing to do with this bit of unwanted time he’s been granted.</p><p>XXI.  </p><p>When he returns home after the confrontation with Maruki in Leblanc, he pulls his phone out and is met with a singular notification.</p><p><strong>Akira Kurusu:</strong> i’m keeping you to our promise</p><p>Goro’s sigh mixes with a single laugh, and he doesn’t respond, instead dropping the phone onto the counter. He’s dead and has accepted that, has lived doing everything he wanted to accomplish. Others would pity him for living such a short life, but in the end he has lived it the way he wants. Certainly a longer life would be sweet, icing on a dirtied cake, but what he’s been granted has to be enough for him.</p><p>It’s not him who needs to accept that.</p><p>XXII.</p><p>His last moments, despite being buried beneath a noisy pile of bodies of his former enemies inside a helicopter that is purring, is not as bad as it could have been. Goro could have been bleeding out somewhere, still unsure of if his purpose had been fulfilled even if he had been hopeful. He could have died much sooner, not even as close to his objective as he truly was.  </p><p>He closes his eyes, allows himself to drown out the sounds. Instead of being here, floating above the destruction of the metaverse, he thinks of the forest, his mother laying next to him. The image of her face is faint, a decade without her or even photos to remember her by, but he imagines what he thinks he knows.</p><p>“We’re almost at the exit!” He hears, but Goro doesn’t look for himself, for the first and last time of his life allowing himself to exist in a daydream rather than reality. They won’t worry about his unresponsiveness, or how he maintains slow breath control. </p><p>He’ll leave knowing that Shido will fall, after all this, which is a nice thought. </p><p>Would you be proud? He wonders, but the fragmented image within his mind mouths words he cannot hear.</p><p>He opens his eyes one last time to look out at the sky, an infinite grey-blue, bright with the late afternoon sun rays, and watches the clouds roll by until everything fades to dark. </p><p>XXIII. </p><p>The truth of the world only becomes clear to him when he steps into the cemetery, a bouquet of ivory chrysanthemums clutched in his hand. He takes a deep breath before he steps through the threshold of the deceased, thinks of whose ashes were placed here as a result of his desecration, whose ghosts yell at him as he wanders unfamiliar side roads between each family grave. Each step forward crushes a tangerine leaf beneath his heel, and while no one pays him or the noise any mind Goro lowers his head, chin butting against the stiff fabric of the scarf wound around his neck. </p><p>The nameless faces remind him that there are people in this world who simply don’t care about his existence, that it makes no noticeable distinction in their everyday lives. But it reminds him that if what he has done became known, that if the bloodstains on his hands were visible to all, there would be many who would rather his very being be erased, a cry for revenge for a loved one he stole away, all justified hatred he cannot fault them for. </p><p>It takes him a few more minutes of meandering through the cemetery before he arrives at his destination, cold winds teasing at his clothes before letting it go, contrasted by the tiny sunspots littered about, quiet ray between clouds and branches, but they create a warm glow and caress the namesakes of the deceased.  </p><p>With one hand he holds the flowers to his chest as he stares at the grave plot; just a single name for the  marker of a family who has outcasted him, but he is here for one person. Someone had been here recently, he can tell by the small number of weeds hugging the sides of the grave, fewer in comparison to some of the graves he had passed, but he doesn’t reach out quite yet to start cleaning. </p><p>It doesn’t feel right, nor does it feel real, to be standing here at the very spot he has avoided for so long. Would his mother tell him to leave, to not touch her resting place with his unholy hands? Or would she smile and thank him for caring for her after all this time? He sees the trace of a smile in his mind’s eye, but the idea of it leaves him frozen, eyes tracing the letterings carved into stone, silence beckoning him to make his decision.</p><p>Eventually, he sets down the flowers, dropping to his knees so he can start working, pulling out what weeds have nestled against the sides of the grave since its last visitor. He plucks away the strands of infectious life with his own diritied hands; he wonders what they would feel like without the barrier of leather between stem and palm. He knows it rained yesterday, so he imagines they may still be damp, sucking in any nutrients it can grasp, the same way the grave marker looks as if it had been cleansed the day before, only hints of the rainfall remaining. </p><p>It also reminds him of how pitiful the lives of these parasitic plants are, short and trapped, and how similar their fate was meant to be to his own if he had not been given breath time and time again by both devilish men and twisted gods. Living with a trajectory towards death makes it difficult to understand what life could truly mean. He knows what it was supposed to be from media and gossip, from enjoying the things you have, to love what you will lose, to pursue your dreams regardless of consequence, to live a life full of emotion– an almost entirely carefree existence. What he learned was an off-brand version, every motion simply an act of life rather than living, the unseen tormenter, with the truth of his own emotions cast aside for the image selected for a cheap imitation of love that comes and goes on a whim. </p><p>He’s had time to think about Kurusu’s words, and it has been a journey to realize maybe there had been some grain of truth in what he said: how every day he would run towards his own death, uncaring for the destructive path he carved. Kurusu would be hurt that while Goro wasn’t happy with the past he can’t fully regret everything he’s done either; there’s no denying there is a that part of him that wishes his road had been just a little simpler, or that he had met someone like Kurusu sooner, someone who with every step lit up the world and placed down roots for the next generation, encouraging life and rebellion in their wake.  He doesn’t know how much that would have changed his path and in the end there’s no point dwelling on it. </p><p>He pulls the last weed out of the earth, lets it sit in his palm for just a minute more and sets it into the pile of the unwanted. His eyes wander again to the grave and his fingers twitch. He should clean the marker himself, but the rain would be better than a rag carried by his own hands. He doesn’t move to stand, instead reaches over and grabs the flowers again, careful when he sets them in a more fitting spot, letting them sit, knowing they too will eventually wither away out of sight.</p><p>There he sits, just off center off the road, traces of cold mud coating his pants, hands folded in his lap, and he stares searching for words on a heavy tongue. </p><p>Here, one of the people most important to him lies, and he’s wondered many times in his life what she would think of him, if she would have been pleased with his previous drive or if she would have scorned him for falling for such an obvious series of traps. </p><p>History has a way of clutching onto the present, clinging and never letting go, and without even that Goro cannot see much for whatever future he had been granted. There are no ambitions left, for they have all been built off scorn and eventually fulfilled. There are ideas, people that he’d like to revisit but he knows they would be better off without him.</p><p>“What do I live for now…” the quiet question slips out of him. His fingers curl into his palm, nails digging deeper into the leather. </p><p>If there are ghosts lingering in this place, none answer him, and Goro looks down at his lap. Would Kurusu have laughed at the doubts Goro carried amidst his aimless wandering, or would he have reached out and helped him find his way once more? Would his mother tell him that it’s okay to take his time or would she urge him to take whatever opportunity comes next and never let go? But the two of them are simply fragments of the dream and the nightmare, now, and Goro glances back at the grave.</p><p>He stands, brushes off what dirt he can, and steps back in front of the grave. It can never provide answers, only sanctuary and solace. He closes his eyes, adjusts his scarf and exhales.</p><p>He’s been limited, but that’s never stopped him before; now his options are infinite and it’s almost frightening. His current road is only a long path of mirrors, each one reflecting himself in this moment, not the malicious whims of those who would make a puppet of him. This grave must now carry the cracked facade alongside his unknown ancestors and their forgotten tales.</p><p>He will never be able to make any sort of amends, never be able change the past, but maybe there’s something he could do, something both unknown and important he can do and become. It’ll be a long road, and as before he’ll stumble his way through. He has no guide in his vengeance or the desires of the corrupt. He’s on his own, alive and only now a master of his own fate, a revelation from months ago frightening in its past implications but wonderful when looking ahead. </p><p>He turns away from the grave and walks on, heart beating a sturdy rhythm beneath his chest. It’s a reminder that he has time to find some sort of answer, and for now such a simple reminder has to be enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading! And you need to go check out the amazing <a href="https://twitter.com/natnatk0/status/1353235032295366656">art</a> created by <a href="https://twitter.com/natnatk0">natnatk0</a>! </p><p>It is very strange to see this finally posted haha. I started this before anything else I’ve posted on this account, and in a weird way if I hadn’t decided to join the Big Bang as a writer none of the other stories I’ve posted would have existed, which is also weird to think about… so I’m really glad I signed up for this event! Thank you for allowing me to participate! </p><p>I’m also on twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/maleficaster">maleficaster</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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